Chapter 4 Rain Delays and Rumors in Yaba

The rain returned like a rumor that refused to die.

It came slow that Friday morning, just light tapping on windows as if Lagos itself was still stretching and yawning. But by noon, it was pouring buckets, swallowing roads, flooding gutters, turning street vendors into floating islands of umbrellas and wet plantain chips.

Tolu sat inside his small shared studio in Yaba, editing a client's wedding shoot. He zoomed into the groom's sweaty forehead, muttered, "Why didn't this man use powder?" and clicked carefully with his mouse. The room smelled faintly of instant coffee and mosquito coil.

Ada's chat had gone quiet since last night. They had talked until sleep took over - late into the night, sweet nothings, silly memes, and one unexpected voice note from Tolu that made her laugh into her pillow.

But this morning? Silence.

He texted:

Tolu: "Rain trying to flood Lagos. Hope you're safe, Jollof Queen."

No reply.

He waited. Checked Instagram. She hadn't posted. Checked WhatsApp. Last seen: 6:02 a.m.

He told himself not to worry. She's busy. Working. Normal. But the feeling gnawed, soft and slow.

---

Meanwhile, Ada sat inside her boss's airless office, blinking at a PowerPoint titled: "Q3 Copywriting Refresh Strategy."

She wasn't really present. Her mind kept drifting back to the text on her phone - unread, not because she didn't want to read it, but because she didn't want to deal with her feelings at work.

That morning, she'd woken up smiling. Then reality tapped her shoulder.

Her ex - Emeka - had sent her a DM.

Not just a "hey" or a "what's up," but a full-on "I've been thinking about you. I miss us."

She didn't reply. She didn't want to reply.

But it still shook her.

Why now? Why when she finally felt like things were clearing? Why did the past always come dressed in soft words and clean cologne?

"Ada?" her boss called.

She jolted. "Yes, sir?"

"You're spacing out."

"Sorry," she muttered, cheeks burning.

---

After work, Ada stood under the BRT shelter at CMS, watching rain slap the pavement. Her shoes were soaked. Her laptop bag smelled like damp paper.

She pulled out her phone, finally replying.

Ada: "Hey. Sorry. Long day. Office stress and waterlogged shoes. I'm alive, sha."

Tolu: "Good. I was starting to imagine you floating away on Third Mainland."

She laughed.

Tolu: "Want to come by? I made stew. Don't judge, I'm learning."

Ada: "How spicy is it?"

Tolu: "Not the kind that fights your ancestors. Just small fire."

She smiled at the screen. Then typed: "On my way."

---

At Tolu's Place

Yaba during rain smelled like hot zobo, diesel, and damp clothes.

Tolu's studio flat was up two flights of cracked stairs, beside a noisy neighbor who played Fuji at full blast, rain or shine. Ada arrived dripping and grumbling.

Tolu opened the door with a dish towel in hand and concern on his face. "You're soaked!"

"Lagos is trying to baptize me today," Ada groaned, stepping inside.

He handed her a hoodie - not the same one as before. A fresh one. She gave him a look. "You own many hoodies, mister."

"I plan ahead," he said, chuckling.

His place was small but neat. Single bed in one corner. Computer table, camera gear neatly arranged, curtains slightly faded.

She changed into dry clothes - one of his T-shirts that swallowed her whole - and settled on the edge of the bed, hair still damp.

"I have gist," she said.

Tolu raised an eyebrow. "Hot or warm?"

"Hot."

She told him about Emeka.

Tolu's smile thinned, eyes shifting. "Ex that broke your heart, yeah?"

Ada nodded slowly. "I didn't reply. I'm not confused. I just... wanted to say it out loud."

He was quiet. Then said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For trusting me with that."

She reached for his hand. He took it.

---

Stew & Jealousy (Again)

Dinner was rice with his "learning" stew. Ada almost choked on the pepper.

"Tolu!"

"You said small fire!"

"This one is native fire! There's war in my throat!"

He burst out laughing, almost falling off the chair. "But it's tasty, abi?"

She glared, eyes watering, but nodded. "Very tasty. But I'll die young."

He wiped her tears with a tissue. "Let me get water before you insult my lineage."

They sat on the bed afterward, both leaning back, TV playing reruns of Jenifa's Diary.

"I like being here," Ada said quietly.

"I like you being here," Tolu replied.

---

Then: his phone buzzed.

He checked it, frowned, and turned it face down.

Ada caught the motion. "Who was that?"

Tolu hesitated. "Just someone I used to talk to. Amaka. She's... persistent."

Ada blinked. "Oh."

"Nothing's going on," he said quickly. "I swear. She's just one of those people who pop up when life gets quiet."

"Like Emeka," Ada murmured.

Tolu nodded.

Silence.

Then Ada smiled faintly. "Fine. Let's agree: ghosts from our past stay ghosts."

"Deal," he said.

They shook on it.

---

Night Rain, Almost Kisses

By 10:45 p.m., the rain still hadn't stopped. Thunder rolled, loud and long.

"I should head out," Ada said, not moving.

"It's too late," Tolu said. "And too wet."

"You're not trapping me here, abeg," she joked.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "You can leave. But I'll worry."

She paused. "Can I really stay?"

He nodded, serious now. "Of course. I'll take the floor."

"Don't be dramatic," she said. "We'll share."

She lay down first, back to the wall, blanket pulled to her chin. Tolu joined carefully, keeping his body respectful inches away.

The lights were off. Rain still whispered outside.

"You cold?" he asked softly.

"A little."

He moved closer, slow, not touching. She shifted toward him.

Silence.

Then: "Tolu?"

"Yeah?"

"What happens if this gets serious?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "Then it gets serious. And we handle it."

She turned to him. Faces inches apart.

He brushed a curl from her face.

Ada's breath caught.

Their lips met - briefly, sweetly. Not desperate. Just real.

When they pulled apart, she whispered, "Okay."

---

The Next Morning

Sunlight broke through slowly.

Ada woke first, blinking into the warmth. Tolu still slept, mouth slightly open, hair ruffled. He looked younger. Softer.

She smiled, heart full and terrified.

He stirred, eyes cracking open. "You're watching me?"

"Yes. Like Netflix."

He laughed groggily. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Tolu."

They stayed there a while longer, wrapped in quiet.

Outside, Lagos had dried up, noisy again, moving forward.

Inside, something between them had shifted.

No labels.

No pressure.

Just the start of something - small, bright, and full of laughter.